This House No Longer Feels Like Home
by ghostlyxinfinity
Summary: Growing up, Tate was always the perfect, beautiful light in his mother's world; and with light comes darkness. Drinking and strange men consume her life. What happens when the darkness kills the light and she is left to make the hardest decision of her life. Meanwhile Tate seeks revenge when he is left all alone. Warnings for self harm and brief non-graphic non-con.
1. Prologue

Constance Langdon loved her children more than anything in the world, she really did. That, being said, they also drove her up the walls. First it had been Beauregard, the sweetest boy a mother could ask for. With his gifts came his deformities and a dog-like state of mind. Then came Adelaide, born with down- syndrome and a will of steel. Constance had known of the struggles that Addie would bring the minute she had set eyes upon the newborn's face, but hell if she would let anyone treat Addie differently than the other children. Over time, Addie had begun to notice her differences and question why; Constance never quite knew what to say. She wanted to tell Addie that she wasn't different; not really, but she was never able to.

As the years passed and Addie started school, Constance began to notice her husband's growing distance from her. He would stay out late and come home in questionably good moods. She wasn't a stupid woman; if not for her own state of loss, she'd have kicked his lying ass out the door. She'd held on to him for so long now that she was not about to let him slip from her. She needed to ensure that he never left; never felt that his life with her was worth less than her own heart, so one night she told him to stay with her for a while. Two weeks later, she found that she was pregnant with what she hoped would be the light she needed to keep her family and her life together.

Nine months later, and her perfect child came into the world; his name was Tate. Five pounds and three ounces of beautiful baby boy; normal baby boy. Hugo had even been there in the hospital to witness the boy's birth. Everything was falling into place for Constance as she looked into her son's big brown eyes. It was all going to be okay.

Tate's baby years were the best she could have hoped for. There were nights when she'd wake from horrible nightmares where Tate died or Tate had a developing brain problem, all of which were soothed when she went to his room and watched him sleep. Tate grew to have nightmares too. Hugo would argue with Constance that therapy was no place for a small child; that he was just going through something that all children did at five. It was when Tate would wake up shrieking that she drew the line on Hugo's parenting ideals. Tate didn't know why his mommy and daddy fought so much; only that it had to with him. That was when he'd go to his sister's room to sleep; when the monsters were watching him from his closet. Addie was always there for him, his bright light. He didn't have the nightmares in her room.

Around Tate, Hugo played the loving father; telling Tate he loved him or playing ball with him. He enjoyed having a son. That was all. He couldn't bring himself to love his other children, he was that type of man. With Addie he went through the motions, but there was only so much he could take. He resumed his old habits of drinking and cheating; staying out late and leaving early. Constance couldn't handle being a single parent and keeping up with their expensive house, so she hired help. Moira seemed a bright young face that was very good around her children. She thoroughly cleaned the house as though she were going to live in it. Not a stone was left unturned, and what better she could dust and play peek-a-boo at the same time. Tate would follow her around and giggle when he thought she didn't notice him.

The only place in the house that Moira was not permitted was the attic. She hadn't thought anything of it until she began to hear things. When she was there alone, chains would rattle and groans would echo through the house. On one particular day when Constance had taken Addie and Tate down to a friend's house to be babysat, Moira was particularly on edge about what was in the attic. It ate away at her to a point where she couldn't stand it anymore. She reached up for the attic door string and paused when she heard the thumping resume. In the end, she couldn't muster up the courage to find out the truth and went back to the master bedroom to finish making the bed.

"Hello there Moira," Hugo walked up behind her as she continued with what she was doing. "I see that you've become curious."_ Shit. _"The thing is...I'm willing to forgive you for it." He had always given her looks or watched her work for an uncomfortable amount of time, but he wrapped his arms around her like they were old lovers. She quickly spun out of his grip and turned toward him.

"Mr. Langdon, I think that would be unprofessional of us. What w...what would your wife say," as she backed up, her leg hit on the foot of the bed and she found her body covered with his. It was disgusting and wrong, eventually she had to give in. This job was important for her and her mother to get by. All she had to do was close her eyes and wait for it to be over. What she expected to come never did, all that came was Constance into the room. The look on her face broke Moira's heart, what she must have been feeling. "Mrs. Langd.."

"You son of a bitch! And I ain't sayin' that because your motha's a tramp," Constance was fuming. "I have loved you for the best years of my life and now that we have this beautiful family you throw it all away!" She began to cry in her rage, "for the cheap thrill of the help!" Moira tried speaking to defend herself, but froze in shock as Constance pulled out a gun. She never got the chance. Two bullets late and Constance sat beside the lives she had taken, when it hit she could only sob.

Explaining to Tate and Addie that their father had run away was one of the hardest things she could do; what was worse was that she was now alone as she'd feared before getting pregnant with Tate. Tate cried himself to sleep multiple times afterward, waking from his dreams on and off through the night. Constance would walk past his door and hear him. On those cold nights, she filled the hole with a bottle of Jack and passed out. This was the beginning.

Tate aged with such grace, never developing any abnormalities or disabilities. In short, he was beautiful, and Constance wanted all the world to know about her perfect son. She would parade him around at church or out to lunch. Tate never understood why his older sister was always left at home, but Addie never seemed to mind. She would tell Tate all about her friends in the house, but Tate had never seen them. All he'd seen in the house he didn't like to talk about. Tate liked the appreciation his mother gave him, though at times it was pressing. Some days it weighed on him like a responsibility his mother had given him. Some days it was too much. Her friends would smile at him or pinch his cheeks for no reason; he didn't even know these people. Addie never got this kind of attention. Why was he so special?

When Tate reached seventeen, he decided he officially hated school. Growing up with compliments pouring over him didn't prepare him for what high school gave to him; which was nothing. He was taunted and bullied so often that there were days when he didn't even bother going. He would hide in the basement of his house or walk into town, always wearing long sleeves to hide himself in. If Constance learned he'd taken to cutting himself, there would be all hell to pay. He was flawed and there would be nothing she could do about it. She tried hard to hide her own flaws, but they shone through every time she staggered into his room to kiss him goodnight. He would always pretend to sleep to not notice, but the booze on her breath sickened him. He was especially sickened when she didn't come home at all.

Constance Langdon loved her children more than anything in the world, she really did. That being said, they also drove her batshit crazy. She tried her best not to blame them, but they were the only reason that she still found herself here. She needed to be a mother to her children, but her selfish habits got in the way of being there every time Tate and Addie needed her to be. She didn't know about the drugs; to be honest she didn't know much about Tate, other than he preferred to stay in his room and not come out unless Addie desperately needed him to. If he wasn't going to play son, she wasn't going to play mother. She went out with numerous men, nights always ending in a stranger's bed or at some cheap motel. Tate's nightmares came back; drugs would blur them, but they wouldn't bring his mother home. When they did, he prayed to God that she would leave.

"Adelaide, what did mama tell you about minding your own business," Tate could hear Constance drag Addie down the hall and throw her into the closet. "Look at yourself!" A new scar blossomed on Tate's wrist. He wasn't beautiful this way, he should be in the closet with Addie. Drugs. Tate was pulled to sleep as he heard his mother sleeping with some strange man. He wanted to die.

Multiple men came in and out of his house and Tate only had that great pleasure of bumping into a few of them. Some of them gave him foul looks, some seemed tender and loving; victims of their own right falling for his mother. After what he guessed had been ten, Constance made the decision of letting one of her man candies stay at their house. Man candy was an exaggeration, putting it nicely; he was about 5'6 and two hundred-fifty pounds. He took to wearing suits like some big shot. From day one, he and Tate loathed each other. Tate learned his name was Frank, he was a lawyer. _There's the catch._ Constance bragged her son up when they sat down to dinner, talking about how Tate got good grades or how nice he'd look if he bought decent clothing and stopped wearing sweaters. It wasn't hard for Frank to see the appeal of the boy, he was quite the sight. Frank knew that he wasn't the only man in Constance's life, but he was determined to make her believe he was the greatest.


	2. Chapter 1

Dinner in the Langdon house became a joke to Tate. His mother always insisted on having him or Frank say grace. With the way his life was turning out, Tate didn't even know if he still believed in a God. "Thank you God for this..beautiful new family I have been blessed to be a part of," Frank finished, smiling. "Tate would you kindly pass the salt please," he was offered a glare before Tate picked up the salt and handed it to the man. With the way Frank dressed, it surprised Tate that he was loafing around in their house. The man's shoes were probably enough money to buy a small house in themselves. Constance was in the relationship for the money, so this guy was in it for..the house? It was certainly a mystery to him; a mystery that he'd solve if he could think about the man for more than ten seconds without being sick. What he really wanted to fill his mind with was the sweet taste of the stuffing on his plate/

Without thinking, Tate began to roll his sleeves up to dig in when he remembered the scars on his wrist. He quickly pushed them back down and glanced up to see if anyone had noticed. Addie was too amazed by how the stuffing was coming out of her piece of turkey, almost like someone had ripped a hole and the turkey's guts smelled delicious. His mother was muttering something about how well Frank had done preparing the meal. Frank had his eyes fixed on Tate. When Tate's eyes met his, he smiled knowingly; almost menacingly. He had seen. Tate's stomach flipped and the stuffing on his plate suddenly didn't look very appetizing. "May I please be excused?" He felt the urge to vomit, but kept to looking at his plate to avoid unnecessary contact with John Wayne Gacy's lawyer-cousin sitting beside him.

"Not until you finish this wonderful meal, young man. Frank took sweet time out of his day to go all out for us; like havin' our own personal little chef around here." That cheap smile on her face made him hold his stomach.

"Yes young man, you don't realize how fortunate you are to have a meal of mine. I don't find myself in the kitchen very often, but boy when I am.." Tate jumped up from the table and ran upstairs to the bathroom. He was dizzy with anger and fear. What if he tells mom about my wrist? What if she finds out how flawed I am? He wasn't about to have some worthless component enter his life just to screw everything up beyond repair. What could he do about it though? Even though the man was below average height and looked like a washed up Disney sidekick, he still wouldn't be able to bring the guy down easily. Tate felt that familiar pull of gravity and took a pill, two for good measure when he heard a knock on the door. "Tate are you in there?" Frank.

"Go away, I don't feel very well," he closed his eyes and wished Frank away. "I think I'm going to bed, uh..sorry I couldn't finish your nice dinner."

"Do you think it's the blood loss?" Tate froze as Frank's voice became hushed and frantic sounding. "Cut the shit, kid. Mama's little boy isn't so beautiful after all. Oh, and by the way, that's quite the stash under your bed."

"Every teenager needs a little reading material," Tate said feigning ignorance, but even he knew he was doomed. The door knob to the bathroom turned and Tate dashed over to lock it before Frank threw it open.

"You had better straighten the fuck up," He moved forward, trapping Tate in a corner. "or I will make your life a living hell. If you cooperate and do what I tell you, we won't have any problems. Better get used to calling me daddy too, because your mother is crazy for me."

"Well didn't you even entertain the idea that maybe she's just crazy," Tate was rewarded with a fast slap in the face that shut him up.

"When I'm your father, even the prettiest of that woman's children will learn a little respect." The bathroom door shut and Tate crumpled to the floor.

~Back at the table, Constance was asking Addie how she felt about Frank. "I like him very much, he seems happy a lot. I think he likes Tate too, he's always looking at him." Constance hadn't noticed that before but Frank sure did put on the smile when he saw Tate.

"I wish your brother were more open to new people Addie. Or people in general. He used to be such a sweet boy. The world has yet to wrong that boy; when he's lived my life, he can come crying." Frank came back into the room, shaking his head in good humor.

"Locked himself in the bathroom. He says he's sorry but he sounded pretty bad off, poor thing. Must've had something that didn't agree with him. He needs to be more careful." Frank finished two plates of food that night.


	3. Chapter 2

After the bathroom confrontation, Tate was even more uncomfortable around Frank than he already had been. Frank continued to smile and play the part, but his smiles were more like sneers to Tate; he was a viper closing in on its prey. More and more, Frank would offer to take the kids out for something fun. Tate argued that he and Addie were old enough to go out themselves. He and Addie would always go see a movie or go to the bookstore across town. Poetry had become Tate's passion, glamour magazines were Addie's; going with Tate was the only time she was allowed to look at them. Constance had forbidden that smut for her daughter; she didn't want Addie getting ideas that would leave her hurt. Tate would even buy Addie lipstick when she really wanted it, he saw no problem with Addie wanting to look beautiful; he already thought she was. If Constance feared Addie feeling different, she should at least let her do normal girl things. What Constance didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"Tate, can we go to the mall today," she shook her brother awake. He groaned and looked over at the clock. 9:00. _Ugh_.

"Why do we have to go so early Addie?"

"Because the TV told me I could have bold, beautiful eyes with their new mascara, duh."

"Well how can I say no to that? Just let me get dressed okay," he rolled over and grabbed his green and black striped sweater from his computer chair. "And be quiet in case mom's still asleep." Of course Constance had left already for the hairdresser. _Good_, Tate thought, _no annoying questions this morning_. Opening his bedroom door, he headed down the hall toward the bathroom until Frank stopped him outside his mother's bedroom.

"Where are you going young man," he had a firm grip on Tate's arm.

" Cut the bullshit Franklin," Tate snapped. "She's not here to praise you for being a doting fake."

"I'm not the one here doing the cutting. I swear you little shit, I will tell your mother about all your little habits. Now, let's try this again. Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"No you're not. Your mother Your mother found Addie's lipstick stash. She told me to not let you leave the house."

"Wow, I wonder how that happened. You sure as hell have quite the habit of going through other people's stuff."

"Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you."

"HA!" Frank's eyes filled with rage and he yanked Tate into the room and shut the door.

"You're not leaving this house until you learn to respect your parents," the grip on Tate's arm began to cut off his circulation.

"You're not my fucking father! And guess what; you never will be! I'm telling Constance about you abusing me," at that his arm was released. "Now if you'll excuse me; Addie! Are you ready to go?" He tried yelling again to no avail. "Where the hell is she?"

"In her room I'd assume. She must have found her special cupcake," the familiar sneer came across Frank's face and Tate snapped.

"You sick son of a bitch!" His fist swung and knocked the glasses from Frank's face, which shattered to pieces. He knew he'd caught the older man off guard, but he never expected what was coming next. In an instant, he felt his body hit the floor, and the room began to spin. A sharp pain in his neck snapped him back to reality before taking him right back out of it. Frank pulled the needle out of Tate's neck and heaves Tate's body onto the bed. Tate moaned in pain, trying to squirm but unable to move his limbs. The older man had intentions to scare the boy to silence, which he planned to do by any means possible.

Tate could hear his own frantic breaths in his ears. His vision was blurred, but he clearly made out the images of Frank overtop of him. He got up the strength to push against him weakly. He felt hands around his neck and his body being smothered with another. "M..mama! Mom!" Tate began to choke and sob as he felt his insides tear.

"Shhh," the hands remained around Tate's throat to try and silence his cries. "Your mother will here all about how much fun it was that we all got to spend the day together,"

Minutes later Tate's head began to clear up. What happened? _Shit_, he thought. _I have to tell mom about Frank! _When he opened his eyes, he was on the floor of his bedroom. When had he ended up here; last he knew he was in his mother's..

A piercing shriek echoed through the house. "OH MY GOD! MY SWEET BABY; MY PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS BABY!" Oh god, Tate thought, something must have happened to Addie. If that bastard touched her. He followed his mother's screams to her bedroom and his eyes widened. His mom was on her bed sobbing while Frank tried his best to comfort her. In her arms was the body of her dead son.


	4. Love Doesn't Live Here Anymore

"Mama! Mama!," the six year old had been frightened by the shadows being cast from his bedroom window. That was the conclusion that Constance Langdon would come to when she comforted her child. "There's a monster in my closet!"

"Tate honey there is nothing in your closet," the lights came on and Tate's eyes were still fixated on the closet. "I would never let there be any monsters near my little boy."

"Yes there was. He was looking right at me, I saw him. He had yellow eyes mama, he's gonna get me."

"I won't let him get you baby," Constance held Tate close to her. "Mama will always be here to protect you."

There were dark purple fingertip marks around his throat and a thin trail of blood running from his mouth. The body was bare, save for his shorts. Constance was cradling his head to her chest as Frank explained how it should have been nearly impossible for anyone to get into the house; that Tate must have invited his murderer in. Frank also explained how he had to go to the grocery store earlier during the time of the murder. Constance wasn't listening, she was praying for Tate to come back to her. He couldn't believe the sight of his own dead body, limp and defiled right in front of his eyes. The worst part was that his memory was running rampant on him. Had Frank done this; and if so, the man his mother was now stuck with was feeding her lies. He wanted to scream and cry and drive a stake through the old bastard's heart.

"I wanted to stop him," Tate heard a voice from behind him. He turned to see the face of an old woman. "But I'm just the help."

Moira had been overhearing Frank and Tate's conversation. From day one, she knew there was something off about the man; through her fear of Constance she hadn't found the nerve to comment. Through her hate of Constance, she almost wanted Frank to be some abusive psychopath and leave Constance with the burden. What happened next was not what she had expected; Tate didn't deserve all the phlaque for his mother's mistakes. Moira heard Tate mention the abuse to Frank and halted dusting outside of the room. It wasn't until she'd heard the bed squeak that her stomach turned. _Oh god no_. All of her memories came flooding back, how much she hated men; how much she now knew she had to step in.

She flung the door open. Frank's eyes snapped up at her, Tate's body had gone completely limp. "Get the fuck out! Don't you get paid to mind your own business!?" He had been trying to wake the boy up; it was too late. "You tell anyone about this and you're dead. _That would be funny_, Moira thought, _If it weren't so damn sad. _Frank tried to hide that he had ever touched the boy, but the giant fingertips on his throat and the blood on the sheets were clear proof. She wanted to strangle the man to death but all she did was nod and leave the room. She'd deal with him later, or maybe she'd let Tate deal with him.

When Constance got home, Frank hadn't had time to hide the body and tell the story of how Tate had packed a bag and run off. She was a mess of course, but Moira didn't give a damn about the old witch's feelings. All she could focus on was Tate in the doorway watching. If he'd been alive, she would have thought that he was in shock. He did not deserve what happened to him, especially since he was now stuck in this dreaded house forever. He would never get to grow up, never experience a real life. She walked up behind him and gently touched his shoulder. "I wanted to stop him," she said. " But I'm just the help." All those times she and Tate had played together but he didn't recognize her now in her elderly form._ I knew he would see me like this._

"Wh..what's going on? What happened to me," he spoke in a strangely calm manner. " Am I dreaming?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetheart." Watching Frank trying to lie about Tate's murderers made her sick. It was like all those times Hugo had lied to Constance about his sick obsession with her; all those times he'd watched her. "That sick bastard.."

His fists clenched, "It was him... where's Addie!?"

"In her room crying."

" What did I do to deserve this?"

"You'll find that this world finds beauty and works its hardest to destroy it."

"That monster needs to stay away from my mother. I can't do anything now that I'm dead! He did me in to take my place, didn't he? Did you see it?"

Moira didn't feel she had the heart to tell him that she'd witnessed him being used in such a way, so she lied. "No." He was on the brink of tears when she got an idea. All these years of appearing to Constance and her house guests; how had she forgotten. "Darling, there may be something that you can do."

Constance no longer found comfort in Frank's empty words; he hadn't been there when Tate was murdered, she knew it hadn't even affected the man. She needed a drink and left Frank alone at home and told him she would be back in a few hours. Frank went into the bedroom and put his head in his hands, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands._ Why couldn't I have been smarter, this house isn't worth all the shit I've been through.__ God, I need a hit. _He went to Tate's room. _Might as well get something out of all this. _What he ended up getting was terrifying as hell. Tate looked healthy as ever, lying on his bed sleeping peacefully. When Frank saw, he jumped back into the door. "Jesus Christ!" I

Tate woke up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "You okay Frank? You look pale as a ghost." Tate smiled then and Frank went running. He ran into Constance's room and locked the door. _I didn't kill him? I swear he wasn't breathing. Oh God, she's going to know what I did. _Turning away from the door, his blood ran cold as Tate faced him; he was propped up on his hands and knees, looking playful and predatory at the same time. Moira had taught him well. "What's wrong Frank? Don't you like me anymore? Why don't you use me one more time; I won't tell." Frank didn't know if it was safe to run, so he held eyes on Tate; terrified of moving. Tate rolled onto his back, eyes seductively locked onto Franks. Frank saw a trickle of blood running from Tate's mouth, the trickle flowed heavier and Frank quickly spun to unlock the door. That was when Tate lunged at him, sending them both to the floor.

"Get off, get off! Tate I'm sorry!" Tate pulled out an old kitchen knife and gripped it tightly in his hand.

"Why should I care about your apologies, I'm dead!" A knock on the door startled them both and a teary voice sprang up.

"Frank can we get ice cream? That's what me and Tate did. I always get chocolate."_ Addie. God why did Addie have to be all alone. _

Frank thought a chord had been struck in Tate and he whispered to him, "Your sister wants to be with her new step-dad. You know it's what's best for her Tate. She needs me."

"Hell needs you, you sack of shit," before he drove the knife into Frank he remembered that he and Moira were stuck here forever. _No_, Tate thought, _I can't kill him here_. When the realization hit, Frank could just grin.

"Frank darlin' take that damn girl out for ice cream! Then get some suitcases ready, I can't stand this damn house any longer." When Frank looked back up from where he was lying on the floor, Tate had disappeared.


End file.
